


See The World

by paien



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), F/M, Last chapter is literally just smut and fluff, Period-Typical Racism, Slight reference to non-con (not Hayziio), Soulmates, Tags will be updated as Hayziio derail this story, Ziio gets handsy in a tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paien/pseuds/paien
Summary: She approaches him quietly at first, the brilliant red aura a mere flicker in the corner of Haytham’s vision; so lithely does she dart from cover to cover that he likely would not have even noticed her were it not for his sixth sense.Haytham is inexplicably drawn to an unknown Assassin that keeps appearing in his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, these two have fought me literally every step of the way while writing this, and they decided to take it in a completely different direction than I had planned X) BUT here it is! This is probably gonna be a short one - just a few chapters (unless Haytham and Ziio get other ideas).
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

She approaches him quietly at first, the brilliant red aura a mere flicker in the corner of Haytham’s vision; so lithely does she dart from cover to cover that he likely would not have even noticed her were it not for his sixth sense. Her aura is different, though—he has never encountered such a vibrant colour. Shades of red mix and swirl around her as a deadly frame of the dangerous intent fixed upon her face, and Haytham subtly tracks her progress through the busy marketplace.

Beside him, Charles seems to sense his preoccupation and gazes at him questioningly.

“My apologies,” Haytham murmurs. The Assassin is rapidly closing the distance between them. “Could you repeat that?”

“I asked if you would like to stop for lunch.” Obedient as ever, Charles repeats himself without a hint of impatience, although he is still frowning slightly in concern.

Haytham glances toward the sky and realizes that it is already past midday. “Ah, yes, very good. To the tavern at the end of the street, then?”

Scarlet, ruby, crimson—she is magnificent as she draws ever closer.

“Lead the way, sir.”

He’s spent too long watching her with his Sight; the beginnings of a headache creep steadily up his neck. Shaking his head, Haytham returns to the dull browns of colonial Boston.

He blinks in surprise, realizing belatedly that the Assassin is a Native woman. She wears the clothes of her people, but with a hidden blade beneath her arm wrappings.

“I wasn’t aware that Achilles was recruiting from the Natives as well,” Haytham remarks. Again, Charles stares at him in bewilderment, but the Grand Master pays him no mind, his eyes focused solely on the Assassin.

Oh, she  _ is  _ good. She is only a stride length away now, though she does well to blend with the crowd, giving no indication that she is aware of Haytham’s presence. If he hadn’t employed his Sight out of habit, Haytham wonders if he would have paid her any attention. But her right hand clenches reflexively as if she is stopping herself from activating her hidden blade—a reconnaissance mission, clearly—and indicates that she hears his words.

Although, on second thought, as he studies the fierce grace with which she moves, he reckons she would have caught his eye either way.

“Perhaps we should also visit their village,” Haytham continues just to garner another reaction from her.

They’re standing almost side by side now. The Assassin, seeming to acknowledge that they are both aware of each other’s presence, gives him an unimpressed stare and slowly looks him up and down. Haytham raises his eyebrows at her. Most would not dare to peruse his form so blatantly, though he is not surprised that this Assassin is an exception.

She finally meets his eyes and Haytham forces himself not to show signs of his consternation. What is it about her that causes her aura to glow so brightly? He studies the curve of her pursed lips—the sharp downturn of her brow as she glares at him, the cunning intelligence that shines in her eyes. He has no doubt that she would be a formidable foe. Is she such a danger that her aura is stronger than normal enemies?

“Sir?” Charles interrupts his musings.

Haytham bites back a sigh as the Assassin takes the opportunity to slip away. He probably ought to have killed her; Reginald would have scolded him dreadfully for the lapse. “Nothing to worry yourself about,” he says to Charles as cheerily as he can. “Shall we be off then?”

* * *

That night, Haytham is sitting amongst his men at the Green Dragon tavern when he engages in a quiet conversation with William, Thomas’ raucous laughter masking Haytham’s prying from the others.

“Have you heard any news of a Native Assassin recently?” Haytham asks in a low voice.

“A Native?” William repeats with surprise. “Aye, I have. They say she’s been with them since she was young. I hear she’s quite good now though.”

“Why have I never heard of her before?” Haytham wonders.

William shrugs. “If I may ask—what brought this on?”

“She was following Charles and myself earlier today,” Haytham explains. “Though I can’t imagine she acquired any useful information, seeing as we were simply discussing lunch options.”

William cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. “That is strange. From what I know, Achilles keeps her close to the Homestead—that is why I have not mentioned her earlier. She has never been sent on a mission in the larger cities.”

“How curious,” Haytham murmurs with a creeping suspicion that the unknown Assassin’s foray into Boston had not been approved by Achilles. “Do you know her name by any chance?”

“Unfortunately, no. But if rumours are to be believed, she is from a Kanien'keha village north of Concord.”

Haytham hums noncommittally and drums his fingers against the table. “I should like to know more of her, if possible. Find out what it is exactly that Achilles has planned for her.”

* * *

Haytham finds himself lost in his thoughts of the nameless Assassin countless times over the following weeks. Despite this, he swears colourfully the next time he sees the magnificent red aura barrelling toward him as a bullet flies past. He doesn’t need to look behind him to know that the Redcoat who was chasing him is now dead.

Haytham quickly slips into a small alley to avoid the crowd of civilians and soldiers drawn toward the sound of the gunshot. The Assassin trails after him, her posture hostile but her face unsure as she reholsters her gun.

He frowns to himself. This Assassin is strange… What is she doing aiding the Templar Grand Master? And yet, she helped him, so perhaps he should allow her the chance to speak. Haytham clears his throat and stops walking, turning around to face her.

_ Kaniehtí:io _ , he recalls William telling him. Known by Ziio amongst the Assassins. Her brown eyes stare at him cautiously—hopefully?—and Haytham has to make a conscious effort to organize his thoughts.

“While I appreciate your help earlier, I’m not sure if you should be following me, considering none of your Creed knows where you are,” he says slowly.

Ziio looks surprised that he has figured her out, but then scoffs. “You will not hurt me.”

She’s right, of course, however galling it is to admit it. He wants to know why she’s following him, why his Eagle Vision marks her differently than the rest. But even more perturbing, perhaps, is that he wants more time to admire her lean form, to hear her voice.

“No, I won’t, Ziio,” he agrees.

Her eyes widen at his familiar use of her name, her lips part, and Haytham desperately wishes he could feel her breath against his skin—is he going insane? The urge is utter madness, and he quickly shoves it out of his mind.

She bolts away, though, into the busy streets before he can say anything further. He rushes out of the alley and activates his Sight, realizing that she is already too far ahead to pursue her.

Haytham exhales loudly as he watches her disappear into the horizon, his head aching in tandem with the crimson pulses of her movement.

He doesn’t move again until long after she is gone.

* * *

As usual, Haytham spends the night at the Green Dragon with his men. This time, though, he’s been nursing a headache since his encounter with Ziio and is allowing himself to indulge in a tad more alcohol than he normally would.

Still, the throbbing persists and Haytham excuses himself for some fresh air, hoping that the cold wind will soothe his pain. He settles on a bench near the tavern, only to huff when a now familiar figure sits beside him. He’s simultaneously pleased and annoyed with her presence, and his head is pounding too much to reconcile the two emotions. 

He’s also drunk, he realizes after finding himself staring at her for an entirely unseemly amount of time. Gods, but he yearns to feel her skin and—

“What is wrong with you?” Ziio asks and, for a moment, Haytham worries that she knows exactly what he is thinking. It takes him a few seconds to realize that she is referring to the head on his shoulders, not the head below his waist.

“I’ve a bloody awful headache,” he mutters, punching the bridge of his nose to distract himself from her delicate neck. If only the pain of his headache was enough to keep his traitorous thoughts in check as well.

“Why?” She doesn’t sound particularly sympathetic, but her voice is low and soothing.

“It’s your fault,” he grumbles, throwing his hands up dramatically—drunkenly. “And I kindly request that, if you must kill me, you wait and allow me to die soberly.”

Ziio raises an eyebrow at him and gives him that same unimpressed look from their first encounter, although this time her lips twitch as she watches him spread his legs out in front of him and lean his head back against the cold brick wall.

“You already know that I am not here on Achilles’ orders,” she says, ignoring his ramblings.

“What the devil are you here for then?” He is horribly tempted to use his Eagle Vision to admire her aura again, but the throbbing behind his forehead stops him.

She shrugs. “I was bored.”

He should be more concerned about her presence, really. She is an Assassin—the hidden blades strapped to her wonderfully delicate wrists are proof enough of that—and, with her skill, could easily take advantage of him in his current state.

Instead, he says, “Glad I can be of service.” He flourishes his hat at her and she snorts. 

He should kill her now as she laughs, while her guard is down. But the light in her eyes is  _ perfect _ , the smile on her lips addictive, and Haytham can’t be arsed to care. 

“May I call you by your name?” he asks, still aware enough to be conscious of her earlier reaction.

She rolls her eyes, though she is still smiling. “Of course—I was just surprised when you said it before.”

There’s a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. If he were less intoxicated, he might have scrutinized her words more closely. As it is, he can only smile to himself, pleased with her response.

“Ziio,” he sighs happily. Bloody hell, he’s more drunk than he thought. “How do you pronounce your real name, Ziio?”

Again, she ignores him. “I hope this isn’t a common occurrence for the Templar Grand Master,” she says dryly.

“Certainly not.” How insulting. Haytham scowls at her cheeky gibe. The pain in his head is slowly dissipating now, though, and he can hardly find it in himself to remain cross with her.

She smiles. “I hope you did not plan on being productive tomorrow morning.”

“I shall be quite alright, thank you very much.”

But Haytham stands up too quickly and Ziio has to grab his arm to stabilize him, an amused glint in her eyes.

“I hope it was worth it,” she says, “considering you will now have another headache tomorrow.”

Haytham frowns. Now  _ that _ is something he hadn’t thought about. Surely he isn’t that drunk though? He peers down at her lovely visage. Really, this is all her fault.

“I am… perhaps slightly more inebriated than I had anticipated,” he admits.

Ziio lets out an exasperated sigh. “You should be more careful,” she says. 

Haytham wants to snort at the irony of an Assassin scolding him. “And why is that?” he asks, unruffled by her tone as he straightens his clothes.

She scowls at his blase attitude. “Some other Assassin may find you next time.”

Haytham only smiles arrogantly. “How unfortunate for them.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch. “I see now why Achilles cannot stand you.”

“Yet, somehow, you do,” he says, eyeing her curiously.

“It is not by choice, I assure you.” 

Ziio looks into his eyes, searching—for what, Haytham cannot fathom. Her words are strange, though he is unsure if she meant them literally. He only knows that he cannot bear to watch her go. 

His knees very nearly give out when she reaches up to cup his cheek, and nothing has ever felt so  _ right  _ but, Gods, he must be drunk because she’s pressing her lips to his and he’s so stunned that he merely accepts her kiss.

When he opens his eyes she has already disappeared from view, leaving him with an increasingly familiar empty sensation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to everyone reading so far! I appreciate all the kudos and comments :)
> 
> And I bought Forsaken so if y'all don't hear from me, it's probably because I'm sobbing in a corner... (but I can guarantee you that this fic will have a happy ending at least).

_ He’s following her, chasing her through the dense brush of the Frontier. She’s traversing the trees, though, and he can’t  _ catch her.  _ He needs to reach her, needs to pull her close and feel her arms wrap around him as he places calloused fingers under her chin to tilt her mouth toward his _ —

— _ suddenly, he realizes that she’s gone and he’s lost her  _ again _ and the awful tingling between his shoulder blades returns and he’ll never be free _ —

_ She tackles him out of nowhere, and Haytham lands heavily on the ground. Her hidden blade is at his neck but, Gods, he can only think of  _ her  _ neck and the tantalizing peak of her collarbones and she’s going to kill him but he’s going to let her. _

In his bed at the Green Dragon, Haytham startles awake, his nightclothes slick with sweat and sticking to him unpleasantly.

“Bloody hell,” he breathes when he realizes that it was just a dream. He runs an agitated hand through his hair and promptly discards his wet clothes, returning to the bed in only his smallclothes.

He sighs quietly, skin quickly drying in the air. The soft touch of the blanket soon pulls him back into his slumber.

* * *

_ The knife is gone, replaced by her sweet, hot tongue and her mischievous teeth as she licks and bites her way from the hollow at his throat to traverse the length of his jaw. _

_ He growls but finds himself trapped, immobile in this dream haze. He surrenders to her touch, his cock already hard and aching to be stroked. She smiles, the expression both warm and absolutely sinful at the same time. His cock twitches at the sight. _

_ “Please,” he begs. He’s on  _ fire— _ if he could only caress her soft skin. Instead, he must endure the delightful press of her flesh against his, leaving her free to do as she pleases with him. _

_ Her hand trails down his chest and he groans _ — _ whether out of disappointment or relief, he cannot say _ — _ when she bypasses his erection to fondle his heavy bollocks. _

_ “Ziio,” he moans. “Let me touch you.” _

_ But she only smiles wider and removes her hand, placing it gently on his cheek. Somehow, the single innocent gesture is the most arousing part so far, and Haytham is fit to  _ burst  _ at any second. _

_ He’s never been so aroused in his life. Suddenly, the warm heat of her core is pressed against the head of his cock and he grunts, slack-jawed, as she sinks down on him. She is absolute heaven around him and he knows he won’t last long as his bollocks tighten even further _ —

Haytham awakens for the second time that night with a gasp. Gods, it had felt so real, but the only tangible evidence of the dream is his hard and leaking cock. 

He’s always been a disciplined man—he’s never felt as overcome with lust as he has since he met Ziio. It feels almost dirty to finish the job now that he is aware of his lewd fantasies of the Assassin, but the traces of her pleasure still dominate his mind so he reaches down to tug firmly at his erection. Pent up as he is from the dream, it doesn’t take long for him to come, his free hand grasping desperately at the sheets as he imagines her strong body still above him.

* * *

When Haytham greets his men at their table the next morning, he is blessedly not hungover—contrary to what Ziio had predicted. Nevertheless, he is irritable and unrested, but is apparently able to mask it well as none of the others appear to notice his agitation.

“Gentlemen,” he greets. “I have decided to travel to speak with the local tribe.”

William perks up at this, glancing at Haytham eagerly.

Haytham coughs. “Alone,” he clarifies apologetically. “I will need the rest of you here to carry along with our current business.”

William now eyes him curiously… Is there a hint of amusement in the Irishman’s expression?

Haytham ignores him. “We must be wary of the Assassins forming closer bonds with the Natives. I shall attempt to gain their trust alone, for too many of us may hamper discussions.”

“Is that safe, sir?” Charles asks. “Certainly one of us can travel with you.”

“It’s alright, Charles—I shall be fine.” Haytham holds his hand up to quell further protests. “Now, if you’ve nothing urgent to tell me, I will depart immediately. Expect me back within the week.”

“While you’re there, sir,” William says quickly, “might I suggest searching for more information about this second Sight the Assassins tend to possess? I have come across similar skills in my readings about the Kanien'keha.”

Haytham raises his eyebrows. He’s beginning to realize that Ziio’s glowing aura may not be such a coincidence, but he has yet to inform his men of his own Eagle Vision and so does not mention it.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

* * *

_ Thwack! _

Haytham recoils from the angry Native man before him and runs his fingers over his tender lip. He spits a glob of blood onto the ground and glares. Somehow, he refrains from retaliating.

“I suppose talking is out of the question then,” Haytham mutters dryly.

The man walks around him and restrains his hands behind his back. “We don’t want you here,” the man says as he marches Haytham toward a longhouse.

“Ah, yes—is that why you’re bringing me closer to your village?” Haytham replies, the metallic taste of blood still lingering on his tongue. He smiles blandly at the other man’s cold expression. Ziio’s sardonic stare is much more intimidating.

“Fate has a poor sense of humour,” the man says flatly.

“What are you on about?” Haytham asks, but doesn’t receive an answer. There’s no sign of Ziio anywhere, and he’s beginning to regret coming to the Frontier in the first place. If only he hadn’t allowed the previous night’s dreams to cloud his judgment…

“Oiá:ner!” the man calls as they enter the longhouse, proceeding to rant in his native language without waiting for a response. He releases Haytham’s arms and shoves him roughly toward an elderly woman.

Haytham sneers at the man, turning his back on him to briefly greet the woman whose wizened features command respect.

“This is the white man, Oiá:ner.”

She smiles knowingly. “Leave him with me.”

The Native man glances between the two of them before departing reluctantly.  

Haytham frowns. “Erm… Haytham Kenway,” he introduces himself uncertainly—he had not particularly planned to be speaking with a tribe elder today.

“Haytham Kenway,” she repeats, scrutinizing his appearance. “I am the Clan Mother.”

“A pleasure,” he says even though it’s anything but as the Clan Mother returns her gaze to his, the small smile never leaving her face. Haytham distinctly feels as though he is missing something—a sentiment that he does not enjoy but that he has been experiencing quite frequently since he’s met Ziio. “I do apologize for the trouble—I did not intend to cause a disruption. I wouldn’t want to waste your time—”

The Clan Mother raises her hand to stop him. “You have come here for something. Perhaps I can help.”

He truly does not wish to speak about Ziio to her own Clan Mother, but perhaps he can pursue business for the Templars as his men believe him to be doing.

“I’ve been told that a man named Achilles has been in contact with your village,” he begins slowly.

The Clan Mother’s smile widens. “Yes. But that is not what you came here for.”

Haytham glares at her, refusing to play into her hands. Many powerful men have cowered under his ire, but this woman’s smile never wavers.

She must be related to Ziio.

“Soon you will find what you seek. Wait here.” She pats him on the shoulder as she leaves.

Haytham exhales in a huff. What the devil is he doing here? He has allowed himself to be distracted by this Assassin that haunts his dreams when, instead, he could be furthering the Order. Now, his lip is still swollen and there’s a lingering disappointment in his chest that he utterly detests. Haytham has witnessed numerous men being completely enamoured with a woman, but he has never found himself in a similar position.

It’s bleeding awful. Has  _ this  _ been Achilles’ plan all along? To have her toy with him, to draw him away from the Templars? 

Haytham frowns to himself. It’s certainly possible. He activates and retracts his hidden blade pensively before deciding to return to his men in Boston immediately. He will not be so easily distracted from his cause.

Before he can leave the longhouse, though, Ziio’s voice rings through the air. “Where is he, Oiá:ner?” she asks, a fiery rage burning in her tone. 

Haytham raises his eyebrows. She is  _ angry _ . He glances behind him in search of an alternative exit—one that  _ doesn’t  _ involve having to pass by an incensed Assassin.

Unfortunately, there is only one exit and he braces himself as she storms up to him, still muttering furiously under her breath. 

Haytham holds his hands up to plead his innocence, but Ziio is already standing only inches away. Her brown eyes spark with outrage, leaving Haytham wondering what it is exactly that he’s done to earn such ire. Is his presence here so unwanted?

Ziio raises her hand to his face and he flinches in preparation for another blow. Instead, she gently traces his lips, her own mouth thin with anger when she reaches the fresh cut on his bottom lip.

“My brother is a fool,” she breathes, cupping Haytham’s face and bringing his mouth to hers.

Surprised, Haytham lets out a low moan and wraps his arms around her lithe body, one hand grasping at the back of her neck. Gods, but she feels even better than his dreams and his head is spinning with desire now that he knows she’s not cross with  _ him _ .

He pulls her tighter towards him, reveling in the sensation of her soft breasts pressing against his chest. Haytham angles his head to slip his tongue in her mouth, but Ziio nips at his bruised lip in retaliation. He growls at the pain, gripping her waist warningly, though he still allows her tongue to roam the inside of his mouth.

Haytham brings his hand around to dip under her clothes, skimming the soft skin on her side. His cock hardens in his breeches. He wants to see more of her— _ needs _ to taste more of her.

But Ziio pulls away, face flushed. “We need to talk.”

Haytham can only blink dumbly at her. Surely she’s not serious?

“Haytham,” she says reproachfully, poking insistently at his chest when he tries to coax her back with deft fingers trailing up her arm. “Stop thinking with your cock.”

Is that supposed to help him with his problem? Haytham clears his throat in a valiant attempt to ignore his throbbing erection. 

“Ah, right,” he says, attempting to discreetly adjust himself in his pants. “What is it?”

Ziio’s eyes darken as she watches him, and Haytham is relieved that he is not the only one affected by…  _ this _ .

“You have the Eagle Sight,” she says without preamble.

He pauses only briefly before nodding. Suddenly, all thoughts of her hot mouth are replaced by a sharp focus as he surveys her.

“Among my people,” she continues, “the Eagle Sight is a sacred power.”

“How did you know that I have it?” Haytham asks curiously.

She smiles. “You get headaches. Those who have not learned to control it properly will—Assassins with the Sight are trained to use it.”

Haytham shifts uneasily. He is uncomfortably reminded that Ziio is still an Assassin—an Assassin who now knows something about him that not even the Templars know.

She seems to sense his discomfort, placing a calming hand on his forearm. “My Eagle Sight is different than most. I inherited it from my mother, who is able to tell one’s intentions—”

Well, that explains quite a bit.

“—and whether they speak the truth.”

“I am unable to lie then?” Haytham says, then quickly backtracks when she glares at him. “Not that I would to you.”

“It would only be when I am using the Sight. If you plan on lying, just tell me not to activate the vision,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Haytham huffs at her sarcasm and gestures impatiently for her to continue.

“Achilles is a dear friend, and I have offered him use of my Sight for many years. In return, he has taught me to fight like an Assassin—but I am not bound to the Creed as others are.”

It’s ridiculous that his heart rate increases at her words, thudding yearningly against his sternum as he imagines her accompanying him back to Boston. He hardly even  _ knows  _ her, and yet he can’t help but feel that it’s utterly  _ right. _

“You would leave so easily?” Haytham asks.

She shakes her head. “What do you see when you use your Sight, Haytham?”

He furrows his brow at the sudden change of topic, then realizes that he might finally understand why she is so different. “Your aura is bright—brighter than anyone else’s. And the most vibrant red I’ve ever seen.”

Ziio steps closer, her hand toying with the buttons of his coat. “And now?”

“Now?” Haytham repeats. He engages his Eagle Vision, and his breath hitches with surprise. The stunning crimson colors have been replaced by a magnificent mosaic of blue and gold, leaving him breathless at the sight.

“Among my people, there are legends of the power of the Eagle Sight,” Ziio says quietly as she reaches up to cup his jaw. “We are more in touch with its potential than most, which is why you could only see red. Now, you are here, on my land, and are beginning to see the truth.”

“And what would that be?” Haytham is mesmerized by her lovely colors, watching intently when her hand touches his skin. The swirls of—dust? Air?—dance upon his skin and send shivers throughout his body.

Her eyes soften as she strokes his cheek. “They say that the Eagle Sight can identify the one you are meant to be with,” she murmurs.

He leans into her touch. “Like a—a soul mate?”

Ziio hums. “You’re taking this better than I thought.”

“Well, it’s not actually true, is it?”

She raises an eyebrow.

Haytham blinks, lacing his fingers through hers and gently removing her hand from his face. “What? Ziio, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Come with me,” she says, a wry smile on her face as if she had anticipated his response. “Let me show you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little shorter but I wanted to have the next part as all one chapter, so here you go! :D Hope y'all like it <3

Ziio leads him to an old, snarled tree that winds skyward, overlooking the Frontier. She points to the highest branch that juts out over the cliff.

“That is where you must go to fully appreciate the Eagle Sight.”

Haytham looks at her incredulously. “That tree is taller than any church I’ve seen.”

“And?” Ziio raises an eyebrow.

“You know very well that I can’t climb that,” he says, eyes narrowing. Haytham has never been afraid of heights, but he stares at the branch skeptically—it hardly seems sturdy enough to bear his weight.

“Why not?” She seems genuinely surprised. “I’ve seen you climb the tallest buildings in Boston.”

“It’s not the same th—when have you seen me do that? How long have you been following me?” Haytham glares at her overly innocent expression.

Ziio laughs and tugs lightly at his hand. “Come—let’s start a little smaller then.”

* * *

Haytham remains sceptical as he follows after Ziio but she does, mercifully, begin with an easy path through the forest, leaping gracefully along fallen trees and low-hanging branches.

She stops abruptly and gestures toward a relatively safe-looking tree. “Let's go—there is enough brush around here that it should be safe if you fall.”

Haytham grimaces. He certainly hopes that he will not need the nearby foliage to cushion his fall. It’s all a bit ridiculous, really—the existence of soulmates and such. Can one excursion up a tree truly change his mind?

Although, not many people would believe in the existence of his second Sight, either, so perhaps he ought to give Ziio a bit more credit.

“What are you waiting for?”

Haytham is shaken out of his musings by Ziio’s impatient voice, and he realizes that she is already halfway up the tree. Whether he is convinced by her assertions or not, he isn’t ready to leave her presence just yet.

Particularly when he has a rather delightful view of her arse from this angle.

Having already reached the top, Ziio glances back at him and raises her eyebrows. “Perhaps you should focus on climbing,” she says wryly.

Haytham coughs, and his face heats at the hidden accusation in her words.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice tinged with amusement. “It’s usually easier after sharing a bed for the first time.”

This time, he has to scrabble for purchase against the rough bark. “Ziio!” he says, scandalized.

“What? It’s true. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.” She settles herself in the ‘V’ of the tree. “You’re doing alright—I don’t understand why climbing a tree is so much different from climbing a building.”

Haytham sighs loudly and tries to distract himself from the thought of sharing a bed with this bold, maddening woman. “It is different,” he says as he continues his ascent. “Buildings always have a ledge to grab. What is there to hold onto in a tree? A twig?”

“But there are small ridges in the bark to use,” she argues, pulling herself up to a nearby branch when Haytham reaches the fork in the tree.

“Perhaps,” he allows because he isn’t inclined to dispute the merits of tree climbing—not when he can admire the elegant curve of her jaw instead. The sun glints off her skin, pales in comparison to the life in her cheeks, flushed pink from exertion.

She’s so beautiful it hurts, and it’s moments like this that leave Haytham unequivocally convinced that she’s onto something with this soulmate business.

“What colours do you see,” he asks curiously, “when you look at me?”

Ziio glances at him, a tender smile on her normally fierce features. “Purple,” she says. “Deep purple, mixed with the lighter shades of my favorite flower.”

He furrows his brow. “Are the colors supposed to mean something?”

“No one knows for sure. Some like to think they do, but it’s hard to determine their purpose if it’s true.” She shrugs and beckons for him to return to the ground. “Let’s find another tree, shall we?”

* * *

The next tree she finds is taller than the first one, but larger and with much thicker branches than the original tree she had wanted him to climb. Haytham is thankful for its sturdy diameter, though he could have done without the thicket that entangles its limbs.

He isn’t particularly concerned about climbing this tree—it’s the ones that appear fit to break at any moment that he eyes with distrust.

“If this is how you plan on improving my tree climbing abilities, I don’t believe it’s working,” he says as he effortlessly scales his newest obstacle. “It’s much too easy when the branches are thick enough to stand on.”

“Oh, too easy, is it?” Ziio replies, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips.

Haytham is hit with the sudden feeling that he should have kept his mouth shut; he situates himself in the ‘V’ of the trunk and doesn’t answer.

Ziio laughs lowly at his silence. “Let’s make this more of a challenge then,” she says, leaning around from a nearby branch and trailing her fingers teasingly at the waist of his trousers.

“Ziio?” he questions nervously, though he can’t help the sharp arousal that shoots toward his groin.

She cups him through his breeches, and he lets out an involuntary hiss. “Yes, Haytham?”

“Just because I was able to climb up here does not mean I will be able to stay up here if you continue like this.”

But she only grins—Gods, her beauty is absolutely arresting—and continues to massage him through the fabric. “You said you needed a challenge, didn’t you?”

“This is—ah—not what I meant,” he says, breath hitching when her fingers dip under his waistband to tease at the head of his cock. Haytham desperately clutches the rough bark under his hands.

Ziio gives a few sure strokes of his erection, pulling away before he becomes completely lightheaded with pleasure. He struggles to control his breathing, and is fervently grateful that he somehow managed to not fall out of the tree.

“Use your Sight while standing on the tree overlooking the land,” Ziio says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Then, she smiles wickedly and rests her hand just below his navel. “Once you have done that, we can finally finish here.”

Haytham huffs, watching her land nimbly on the ground. He has already allowed his desire for her to lead him to commit one foolish, rash action today in coming to the Frontier, and he knows he will inevitably be continuing along a similar path when he climbs one more tree for her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think we're almost done here! One more chapter after this one :) Thanks a bunch to all who've been reading <3

Harsh wind stings Haytham’s face as he settles at the apex of the tree. Foaming waves crash against the cliff beneath him, and he glances over his shoulder to scowl at Ziio following behind him.

“Almost there,” she says encouragingly. “Don’t look down for too long.”

“You don’t say,” Haytham mutters. He’s made it to the end of the shaky branch, though, and he has to admit that it’s oddly… tranquil as he overlooks the wilderness of the Frontier. “Have you been up here before?” he asks.

Ziio smiles, utterly at ease in the air. “Not yet—I was waiting for you. Use your Sight, Haytham. I will see you soon.”

He hasn’t the foggiest what she’s talking about, but decides to humour her and do as she says. Haytham engages his Eagle Vision—he hopes that he isn’t left with another headache after this—and abruptly finds himself plummeting head first off the tree.

But he’s not falling—not really. He’s flying, soaring over the Frontier, and the world is rich with colour as he flaps his wings.

Suddenly, before he can even contemplate what is happening, his feet are back on the ground. Ziio’s village is visible from a distance, but he is no longer by the crooked tree overlooking the forest. There is a young Native girl—about 11 or 12 years old—hiding, crouched, in the brush, and staring with wide eyes at an unmoving body. She cautiously approaches the dead Assassin, easily identifiable to Haytham by their distinctive robes.

Haytham tries to put an arm out to prevent the girl from witnessing the grisly wounds on the man’s front, but his hand moves through her body as if it were made of air.

“Sir?” the girl says, apparently oblivious to Haytham’s presence. “Are you okay?”

Of course, the corpse doesn’t respond, and the girl toys anxiously with her braid as she gently shakes the man’s limp arm. Haytham doesn’t know why he’s here or how he even got here, but he is struck with an odd, unexpected urge to protect this girl—if only he could communicate with her somehow.

She eventually stops trying to wake the man, fingers lingering instead at the hidden blade attached to his wrist.

 _No_ , Haytham wants to tell her, _that’s dangerous_.

He is completely invisible to her though. He can’t even warn her when another Assassin erupts from the trees, pinning her against the ground. But the girl is clever and has stolen the fallen Assassin’s blade, holding it bravely at Achilles’ neck.

“ _You_ killed him?” Achilles asks, eyes still searching for vengeance.

 _Of course not, you pillock_. Haytham scowls at his rough handling of the girl.

“No!” the girl says. “I found him like this.”

Achilles seems to realize that he is threatening a young girl and abruptly stands. “And yet you steal from the dead,” he says, looking pointedly at her hidden blade.

“I’m sorry—I was curious. You can have it back.” She scrambles to return the blade but stops when Achilles holds up a hand.

“I suppose I have no use for it now,” he says with a sigh. “Keep it and use it when needs must.”

The girl frowns as if puzzling out his words. “Okay?” she says slowly.

Achilles smiles at her tone. “What is your name, little one?”

“Kaniehtí:io,” she says proudly. “But you can call me Ziio. I am from the village at the bottom of the hill.”

Haytham inhales sharply. _This_ is his Ziio? He sees it now, of course—she still has the same thin face, the same arch of her brow. But how can that be? Is he viewing her past?

“Return to your village then, Ziio. And be careful with that blade!” Achilles calls after her as she takes off through the trees.

Haytham glowers at the younger Achilles—how had he not noticed it before?—for allowing a young girl to own a hidden blade, though he can hardly judge when he himself was trained to sword fight even earlier. He moves to follow after Ziio, only to be tugged away by some mysterious force and sent back, swirling, into the sky.

* * *

When Haytham lands onto solid ground again, the Ziio before him is older, perhaps almost at two decades of life. She is vibrant, fresh, so full of _energy_ , and her eyes sparkle with spirit as she sets animal traps with a well-practiced hand.

She can’t be too many years off from the strong woman he’s familiar with, but he is unaccustomed to the innocence that halos her bearing. It’s endearing though, so Haytham trails after her without complaint. He thinks he may have still caught glimpses of that purity whenever she kissed him, her soft mouth caressing his.

Then he recalls her sinful hand stroking him in the tree and is slightly less mournful of the loss of this unseen, naive facet of Ziio.

“Raké:ni?” Ziio says, glancing around once she has finished setting her traps. She ventures through the forest until she encounters a tall Native man harvesting the meat of an ensnared hare. Her mouth curves up in a small smile. “Are you done yet? Perhaps you should let me—clearly your old age is slowing you down.”

The man snorts and shakes his head. “And clearly I should have left you behind with the elders.”

“What for? I can catch twice as much in the time it will take you to finish here,” Ziio says, laughing as she skips away.

Haytham quirks his lips at her light-hearted expression while her father only continues to shake his head good naturedly. Haytham steps forward to follow her but to a halt when he sees a trio of Redcoats emerge from the trees.

Ziio’s father doesn’t even have time to raise his head from his work before they shoot him dead.

“There’s another one nearby,” a Redcoat says. “Hide in the bushes.”

Another one speaks up. “But what about—”

“In the bushes!” the first snarls.

Haytham can scarcely watch, an all-consuming dread engulfing rising up in his chest. He knows that they could not have killed her, and yet his heart still thumps loudly in his ears when Ziio bursts into view in response to the commotion, crouched for battle just as the Assassins tend to do. She scans the forest warily, eyes widening as they settle upon her father’s unmoving body.

“Raké:ni?” she whispers hoarsely, falling to her knees beside him.

Haytham shudders at the pain in her voice. He stands next to her grieving form and reaches for her shoulder, forgetting that he is merely a spectre intruding in her memory.

“Ziio,” he says urgently, seeing the bushes rustle where the Redcoats are hiding. “Ziio, you must leave.”

His words are as futile as his actions when he moves to shield her from the ambush; Haytham can only watch despairingly as the soldier’s body lands heavily on Ziio, knocking her into her front as if Haytham weren’t even there.

“I told you there was another!” the Redcoat says, pinning her arms behind her back.

Ziio thrashes wildly beneath him, eyes blazing. She tries to activate her hidden blade, but is unable to twist her wrist at the correct angle. The other two soldiers step forward, watching her cautiously. Hidden below the wariness in their gaze is a hint of something darker, more sinister, that leaves Haytham foaming with rage, fists clenching with the need to crush the bones in the lecherous hands that are now exploring her body through her clothing.

“Young. Fit,” one of the Redcoats says after he has determined that she cannot harm him in her current position. “We could have some fun with this one.”

Haytham shakes with fury. How easy it would be, if he were there, to wrap his hands around their cretinous necks—

“You have no right,” Ziio hisses, teeth snapping at the space where one of the Redcoat’s fingers was hovering near her face.

“Who’s stopping us?” the man replies and slaps her cheek.

Haytham’s heart swells with pride at the steel in her eyes even while he plots to punish these men for daring to touch her. He stares at them—memorizing their faces, listening for clues that might reveal their identities so he can hunt them down when he returns to his own time and body.

In the end, his plans for revenge are unnecessary. Ziio’s brother suddenly appears, eyes blazing, and skillfully wields a short knife to kill two Redcoats. Ziio takes advantage of the distraction to stab the remaining Redcoat with her hidden blade.

“How did you know to find me?” Ziio asks after her brother helps her up. She is remarkably calm, and Haytham is suddenly grateful for the training she must have received with the Assassins.

He purses his lips. “I did not. Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head and points to their father’s body, lying cold and forgotten in the grass. “He… did not make it,” she says quietly.

Her brother stares at the corpse and is motionless for so long that, were it not for the resentful embers in his eyes, Haytham would have mistaken his silence as indifference.

“Stay away from these white men, Kaniehtí:io—they bring only trouble,” he says finally, gaze hard.

* * *

Haytham is back in the village, in the longhouse where this had all begun. _This_ is his Ziio—the assured, skillful Assassin that had followed him in Boston. But he’s still not in his proper body, and her eyes are alight with an infusion of apprehension and joy that leaves him breathless.

“Ziio?” he tries anyway, if only to have her view directed at him. He desperately wishes that she would look upon him like that; it is the most expressive that he has seen her, save for the few fleeting moments that they have shared.

Haytham was not expecting a reply, but is disappointed nonetheless.

“Do not be angry, Wahiake:ron,” Ziio says to her brother, who is standing with his arms crossed.

“If you don’t want me to be angry, that is not a good start,” he says. “What is it?”

Ziio purses her lips as if debating on continuing the conversation but then blurts out, “I have found him.”

His eyes widen. “Your Sight?”

“I saw him in Boston,” she says, bouncing on her feet.

While Haytham would much rather be physically with her, he supposes he can live with playing second best to his past self.

“In _Boston_?” Her brother’s eyes narrow. “Then he is a white man.”

She stops and looks at him pleadingly. “I told you not to be angry,” she reminds him quietly.

But he is already scowling darkly at her. “Have you forgotten what those men did to our father? What they would have done to you?”

Ziio juts her chin out stubbornly. “He is not like that.”

“They are _all_ like that in the end, Kaniehtí:io,” he spits.

Haytham should be offended, he thinks, that Ziio’s brother is so quick to defame his character, but finds himself almost inclined to agree with the man’s steaming resentment of the colonists—Haytham himself has hardly forgiven the people responsible for his own father’s death, after all. And he certainly would never forgive the bastards for daring to touch Ziio without her consent.

“He may not seem like it now,” her brother continues, “but how do you know he will not change?”

“I don’t, of course,” Ziio replies. “But the same can be said of anyone.” She looks at her brother. “Have you not changed after father’s death?”

The silence is stifling. Finally, he shakes his head. “It is clear that you have already made up your mind. I only hope that he is worth it.”

Maddeningly, Haytham finds himself agreeing with the man once again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! I hope you all enjoyed :D I'm actually quite proud that I managed (relatively) regular updates for this one - although the writing muse was beginning to flag at the end there. Apparently 5 ish chapters is my limit...
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for reading! <33

The remaining glimpses into Ziio’s life pass by in an odd blurring of Haytham’s memory of the event and the new perspective that he is witnessing from Ziio. She has been following him for some time, he realizes as he wonders how on Earth he had not noticed sooner.

Finally, Haytham is pulled abruptly from her memories, landing gracelessly on his back in a clearing in the forest. He must have returned to his body now—the grass moulds to his frame in a manner that the strange memory world had not, and Haytham has never been so grateful to run his hands against the land.

He closes his eyes and lays back, enjoying the tickle of soft petals against his bare neck. Perhaps this has all been a dream and he will soon awaken with the hangover headache that Ziio had predicted. After all, how could he possibly end up in this clearing if it were not dream? Yes, he must still be dreaming—haunted by Ziio’s sweet smile and her beautiful, intelligent eyes.

The problem, Haytham realizes, is that he desperately _wants_ for it all to be true now. A life without Ziio is bleak, and he cringes away from the thought despairingly.

Haytham exhales loudly and closes his eyes. He’ll rest a few more minutes before the early morning sun shines through the cracked shutters of his room at the inn…

A gentle hand presses onto his chest. It’s Ziio, and Haytham smiles at her sure touch but doesn’t open his eyes—he wants to savor the warmth of her palm against his heart since he will have to be content with one last stolen moment with Ziio before he awakens.

Her weight settles on his hips as she straddles him, hands moving to undo the buttons of his outer cloak. Haytham reflexively tries to sit up, but Ziio pushes down on his shoulder until he relents and lies back down.

“Let me do it,” she says and returns to his buttons.

Ziio painstakingly removes his clothing, leaving trailing feather-light touches against his bare skin, until he is left only in his breeches. Haytham delights in her caresses but soon grows impatient; his throbbing cock presses insistently against his pants and demands attention. He reaches up to bring Ziio’s mouth to his and take control, only for her to pull away with a teasing smile.

Haytham growls in frustration, which fades away to a confused frown. “I’m not dreaming,” he realizes out loud.

Ziio laughs at his expression. “No, you are not,” she confirms as she works on removing her own clothing. “How did you tell?”

“Only the real Ziio would torment me so,” he says, tugging her face back towards his meaningfully.

She smiles, again maintaining her distance and eliciting an irritated noise from the back of Haytham’s throat.

“I want you to use your Sight first,” she says eagerly, ignoring his protests when she slaps away his wandering hands.

“Can’t it wait?” he grouses even as he engages his Eagle Sight. “You’re a bloody tease…”

His voice trails off and he sits up abruptly, almost knocking Ziio off his lap. Her arms quickly wrap around his neck to maintain her balance, but he scarcely notices as he glances around the clearing in bewilderment.

The surroundings are not the same faded gray that they normally are; the trees are soft brown and tinged with pink, the neighboring ferns pastel blue, and the sky is bleeding _amber_.

“Ziio?” he asks, turning to look at her questioningly.

But her aura is different as well—a deep, rich green flecked with the same emerald that had adorned the wallpapers of his home back in London. His father had chosen the colors because of the similarity to his mother’s warm eyes, and Haytham swallows thickly at the sight before him.

“What do you see?” Ziio asks softly, cupping his face gently in her hands.

“Green,” he murmurs and crushes her against him.

She can’t possibly understand the significance of the color, but her smile is as brilliant as if he has professed his love for her. “We are still in the Eagle realm—no one can bother us here,” she says. Her hands trail along his jaw suggestively.

Smiling, Haytham places his fingers under her chin, tilts her mouth toward his, and is finally rewarded with the touch of her soft lips. She tastes like home and belonging and peace, leaving his skin tingling with pleasure as she licks and nibbles her way down to the pulse point in his neck.

Haytham groans at the sensation and gently pulls her away. At her questioning glance, he smirks and rolls so that she is now lying on her back. He quickly removes the vestiges of her clothing, settling between her legs with a sigh of contentment. The heat of her warm core presses tantalizingly against the bulge in his breeches, his erection pulsing with desire.

Ziio hums in approval, reaching down to help him out of his pants.

“Ah-ah,” Haytham tuts and encircles both of her wrists with one hand, eyeing her cross expression mischievously. He brings her arms up above her head, his gaze immediately drawn lower to admire her round breasts, accentuated as she arches her back in an attempt to break free from his hold.

“Haytham,” she protests, looking longingly at the abandoned partially open placket of his breeches.

“Oh, no, Ziio,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eyes, “it is my turn now.”

He prepares himself for more objections—he would expect nothing less from her—but, surprisingly, she surrenders with a shaky exhale and tilts her hips up to brush against the bulge at his crotch.

“ _Haytham_ ,” she says, voice hitching.

Haytham shudders, cock already leaking needily. He had intended to draw this out, to have her shaking with pleasure beneath him, but is overcome with the same lust that seems to cloud his mind whenever he is with her. Lavishing her sweet breasts with his tongue, he fumbles at the remaining buttons of his breeches until his erection springs free, the head swollen and red.

Ziio moans under his attention and wraps her legs around his waist, pulling their lower halves flush against each other. His cock slides between the wet lips of her cunt and he hisses at the contact, his grip around her wrists tightening as she continues to rock against him.

“I should have restrained your legs as well,” he says wryly. He thrusts lightly against her clit, earning himself another wanton moan from Ziio beneath him.

She swears loudly in her native tongue, heels digging into his lower back as she makes her demands clear.

“Impatient woman,” he says through gritted teeth but relents, releasing her wrists and guiding his cock to her entrance.

He thrusts forward, the slickness of her arousal engulfing his cock. Her body is a perfect heaven, leaving him breathless from the pleasure of her hot cunt clenching around him. She pulls him down so that almost every part of his skin is in contact with hers, and Haytham buries his face in the crook of her neck as he grinds against her.

“Gods, Ziio,” he groans, almost overwhelmed by the sensations washing over him.

Her eyes are squeezed shut, face contorted with pleasure. She’s close—he can tell by the way her cunt tightens around him. Haytham reaches down to rub her clit with his thumb and she claws desperately at his back, hips bucking as she nears her climax.

Haytham growls at the sting of her nails, his own orgasm building and driving his momentum deep inside her. At one particularly fierce thrust that causes her breasts to bounce enticingly, her back arches and she writhes beneath him, repeating his name like an exaltation and a curse as she comes.

The rippling of her orgasm around him is too much. With a deep groan, Haytham buries his cock to the hilt, balls clenching with his release. Thoughts still jumbled from his orgasm, he remains motionless inside her while he tries to catch his breath.

Ziio hugs him closer and presses a lazy kiss to his cheek. She smiles sleepily. “I love you, Haytham.”

“And I love you.” The words slip out surprisingly easily

He means it, too.

* * *

His walk through the forest is peaceful and undisturbed—a welcome break from his duties as Grand Master. Spring has finally returned to the Colonies, with Ziio’s favourite flower punctuating the land periodically. Haytham can’t for the life of him recall the name of the blasted plant though.

As he continues his stroll through the Frontier, Haytham comes across a party of Natives armed with traps and bait. He nods at the hunting group, who return his greeting as they pass by.

“Will you return by nightfall?” Wahiake:ron asks him.

Haytham shrugs, a small smile creeping onto his features. “We shall see.”

Ziio’s brother snorts and says, “I will save the smallest catch for you then.”

“Your only catch, you mean,” Haytham replies, eyebrows raised innocently. His comment draws a rumble of laughter from the group.

The other man’s mouth twitches and he claps Haytham on the back. “You white men are nothing but trouble,” Wahiake:ron says seriously, but his eyes gleam warm with acceptance.

* * *

Haytham has almost reached his destination when, out of habit, he activates his Eagle Sight and realizes that he is being followed. Her emerald aura shimmers in the soft spring sun.

She is as strikingly beautiful as the first time he saw her—almost one year ago.

“Really, Ziio,” he says in mock exasperation, disengaging from his Sight to raise his eyebrows at her mischievous smile, “you’re following me again?”

She shrugs from her location amongst the tree branches. “I was bored.”

Haytham rolls his eyes but gestures for her to come with him. “Yes, well, I suppose we may as well walk there together then. I’m not sure why you don’t seem to have anything better to do,” he mutters to himself. “I believe we have been there enough times that I won’t get lost if I walk there by myself.”

Noticing that Ziio has been uncharacteristically quiet, Haytham pauses abruptly.

“Ziio?” he asks as he glances up at the treetop path that she had been following. “Where the devil did you go? Honestly, at this rate we won’t make it to the Eagle tree until sundown— _oomph_!”

She lands on top of him, peals of laughter ringing through the forest.

“Bloody _hell_ , Ziio,” Haytham groans, lying prone on his back and rubbing at his neck ruefully.

“I was bored,” she repeats with a grin, giving him an apologetic kiss.

“And that gave you cause to assault me?” Haytham replies indignantly, though he pulls her tighter against him all the same—he will never tire of the soft warmth of her skin.

“You were taking too long,” she says. “I waited for you in the Eagle world for an hour.”

He sighs, gently brushing stray wisps of hair from her face. “My apologies. I may have been travelling at a more… leisurely pace than usual.”

Ziio doesn’t answer, apparently none too bothered now that he is here and she can dip her fingers under his clothes to trace his collarbones.

“Ziio,” he protests. “Not _here_. Isn’t the point of returning to the clearing in the Eagle world so that there is no possibility of being interrupted?”

She smiles, tweaking his nipple playfully—his cock twitches with interest—before pulling her hand away.

“Let’s go, then,” she says, darting off into the forest.

Haytham sighs again, watching her magnificent green aura fade into the grey background of the trees. He shakes his head at the maddening woman. _His_ maddening woman.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
